


Size Matters

by ignaz



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Otabek Altin Has a Big Dick, Size Kink, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, hopefully humor anyway, literal dick measuring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 22:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12198933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignaz/pseuds/ignaz
Summary: Yuri tries to convince Otabek of the virtues of measuring one’s dick. When Otabek says no, Yuri accepts the answer with all the grace and maturity you’d expect, which is to saynone whatsoever.





	Size Matters

**Author's Note:**

> This is another late contribution for NSFW Yurio Week, which is what happens when you decide you want to participate in the porn fest two days before it starts. This is Day 4, “size queen.” Thanks to @squonkfan for discussing this with me at length despite not being in the fandom, and for the title. Big thanks to @thedeadparrot for fast and thorough beta reading. All remaining mistakes and dick puns are mine. I love this cliche and I regret nothing.

“You mean you’ve never measured it?!”

At his desk, working on mixes for an upcoming gig, Otabek paused. He could feel Yuri’s eyes boring into him from his spot on the bed, could hear the disbelief in his voice.

“No,” he said.

“ _What?_ ” The mattress springs squeaked as Yuri shifted. “Why not?”

“Because,” Otabek said. “Because it’s—weird. That’s weird.”

Yuri scoffed. “I think it’s weird that you _haven’t_ measured it. Everyone measures it.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“They do. Trust me.”

After that, Yuri fell silent. Otabek put his headphones on for a minute, then took them off and set them beside the keyboard. Focused on the computer screen, he didn’t notice Yuri’s approach until Yuri draped his arms over Otabek’s shoulders.

“Let me measure it.”

“No.”

“Come on,” Yuri said, running both hands down Otabek’s chest, toward his groin, probably trying to sound seductive but just sounding whiny. Otabek always found him much more seductive when he wasn’t trying. The hands were pretty distracting, though. “Let me do it.”

“No.”

Yuri’s fingers plucked at the front of Otabek’s tee. “Why not?”

“Because,” Otabek said, carefully taking one of Yuri’s wrists in his hand and removing it from his front. “It’s dumb.”

“ _You’re_ dumb,” said Yuri, snatching his other hand away before Otabek could get it. He moved both hands to Otabek’s shoulders and began a slow, deep kneading. “Why wouldn’t you want to know how big it is?”

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?” Otabek said, finally turning around to look at Yuri. “It’s not your dick.”

Yuri looked like he was about to argue the point, then seemed to think better of it. “I’d want to know, if I was hung like that. Why won’t you let _me_ know how big it is?”

“You’ve seen it,” Otabek said flatly.

“That’s not the same. I need numbers. Centimeters. Inches,” Yuri said mysteriously.

“Inches? Why would you—Yuri, you are not texting JJ Leroy about my dick. _No_.”

“He needs to know!” Yuri yelled.

“Why? Why do you antagonize that guy? Just ignore him.”

“ _He_ antagonizes _me_. I want him to be _terrified_ the next time he skates against you. Against both of us.”

“Oh, he’ll be terrified, all right. At what a weirdo you are.”

Yuri chucked a plush bear at him. Otabek caught it in both hands before it could hit anything.

“You’re the weirdo,” Yuri said. “If my dick looked like that I’d tell everyone. I’d take out advertisements.”

He seemed to be winding down, so Otabek ignored him and went back to his mix.

Two minutes later, Yuri was back, leaning over Otabek’s shoulder to look at the laptop screen.

“I’m bored,” he announced. “I want to have sex.”

Otabek leaned back a little to look at his face, which was aimed at the screen and, in the light emanating from it, even whiter than usual. He was the most beautiful thing Otabek had ever seen. Also, the most immature.

“Can you wait ten minutes? I’m not really at a stopping point.”

Yuri sagged, then flopped away with great drama before throwing himself onto Otabek’s bed. “Five minutes,” he counter-offered, humping a pillow, ”and then I’m starting without you.”

Otabek looked at his screen. He _had_ been working for a while.

Dick-measuring dropped, Otabek went to join his boyfriend in bed.

And that was that.

—

That, of course, was not that.

A day later, Otabek was on his back on his bed with his legs hanging off while Yuri knelt between them and sucked him off. This was quickly becoming his favorite activity in the world. Yuri was his first boyfriend, and he was Yuri’s, and it had taken them a few weeks of fumbling before they’d started to get good at it, but now—now, it was perfect. Turned out Yuri Plisetsky approached oral sex with the same snarling tenacity with which he approached skating. Otabek still couldn’t believe he was the lucky recipient of Yuri’s attention. When he’d picked Yuri up in Barcelona that day, he’d honestly just been hoping they could be friends.

Even with plenty of practice and dogged determination, Yuri could only get about half of Otabek’s cock in his mouth. The rest he held in his hand, slick with spit, stroking in time with the movements of his lips and tongue.

Otabek liked to look, to see Yuri’s blond head bobbing in his lap, to watch his own cock sliding past those shiny pink lips. On the bed, though, with Yuri on the floor, it was easy to lie back and let his eyes fall shut, let the wet, dirty sounds of Yuri sucking him fill his mind and carry him close to the edge.

When Yuri pulled his mouth off, Otabek didn’t immediately open his eyes. It wasn’t unusual for him to need a break mid-blowjob to rest his jaw. When that happened, he’d switch to using his hand, to nuzzling Otabek’s balls and kissing his cock and licking him all over like an ice cream cone until he was ready to suck Otabek back into his hot, sweet mouth again.

But when Yuri pulled off this time, nothing happened. After a moment, Otabek pushed himself up to his elbows to see what was wrong, only to find Yuri holding Otabek’s dick in one hand and a blue plastic ruler in the other.

“What the hell,” he said, reaching down and snatching the ruler out of Yuri’s hand. Yuri squawked in protest.

“I was using that!”

“Were you trying to measure my dick?”

“Give it back!”

“What is the matter with you?” Otabek muttered. Yuri lunged up from the floor, hand extended for the ruler. Otabek held it out of reach and Yuri clambered on top of him, still chasing it, and a perfectly nice afternoon blowjob suddenly became a wrestling match. He wouldn’t have minded wrestling with Yuri, but they were still learning each other’s bodies and he was already naked and in a vulnerable state, and it was only a matter of seconds before the inevitable happened.

“Sorry! Oh shit, I’m so sorry! Fuck, are you okay?”

Otabek, curled in the fetal position and cupping his excruciatingly painful junk, was for the moment unable to answer. Yuri’s hands were fluttering around him, touching his shoulders, his side, always pulling away quickly, like he was afraid a simple touch would do as much damage as his bony knee had.

“Ice pack,” Otabek managed. “Freezer.”

“Right.” Yuri jumped off the bed and dashed out of the room, calling another “sorry” behind him as he went.

Otabek blinked back tears and tried to will away the nausea. Yuri was back a moment later with the ice pack, face stricken. “Sorry,” he said to Otabek’s face, and then “sorry,” again, this time to Otabek’s groin, as he gingerly placed the ice pack there.

That put an end to any sexual or other vigorous activity for the next 24 hours, though Yuri was very contrite and refreshed his ice pack three times, and made them dinner wearing nothing but an apron, which Otabek appreciated even in his incapacitated state. And when they did have sex again, Yuri made it up to him with a long, thankfully uninterrupted blowjob that left him trembling, gasping for breath, racked with pleasure as he came in Yuri’s apologetic mouth.

He reached for Yuri, tugging gently at his bare sweaty shoulders until he shifted up on the bed and came in for a kiss. He was jerking himself off, already close if his pink face and panting were any indicator, and Otabek wrapped his own fingers around Yuri’s.

“Fuck,” Yuri breathed into his ear, their hands moving faster. “I _love_ your cock.”

Otabek twisted his neck to kiss the top of Yuri’s head. “I love you,” he said quietly into the mess of tangled blond hair.

Yuri groaned and came, spurting onto Otabek’s abdomen. He took a moment to catch his breath and then kissed Otabek again, hungrily. “You’re amazing,” he said.

Otabek kissed him back and kept on kissing him until it was time to get out of bed and get cleaned up.

—

Yuri and Otabek didn’t get to spend that much time together, what with living and training in different countries, several time zones apart. That was hard, but it did make their limited time together all that more special.

They had a lot of sex when they were together, but that wasn’t the only thing they did. They went out, exploring places together. When Otabek went to Russia, Yuri showed him around St. Petersburg; when Yuri came to Kazakhstan, Otabek showed him all his favorite spots in Almaty. They went to movies and out to eat when their training diets allowed it. They played video games. Otabek took Yuri on long bike rides. They skated.

But also, they had a lot of sex.

He loved getting blown by Yuri, but he loved going down on Yuri, too. He loved holding Yuri’s cock in his mouth, holding Yuri’s hips in his hands, cupping his firm, round ass, caressing his balls. Yuri had been so unreachable for so long, so untouchable, that to make him writhe and whimper and come with just Otabek’s mouth on him was almost as good as winning gold.

Hot as it was, sucking Yuri off did have one downside: with Yuri’s dick in his mouth, Otabek couldn’t kiss him. There was nothing in the world like kissing Yuri, holding him, limbs and lips entwined, tasting his tongue and pulling sweet moans from him and swallowing them down. It was the only thing they’d done together for months after they started dating, when neither of them was ready to take the next step. They could still make out for hours, but now they could make out for hours while also playing with each other’s dicks, which was even better. It was almost more intimate than sucking each other off, because they were face to face, eye to eye, breathing each other’s breath. They could lay on their sides together in his bed. He could hold Yuri’s hard cock in his hand and stroke Yuri’s long hair with the other, kissing him while he climaxed. He could get comfortable, one hand leisurely stroking Yuri while the other slid beneath his pillow—

His fingers encountered a tangle of plastic. He withdrew it from under the pillow and held it up to his face, his other hand stilling on Yuri’s dick.

“Why is there measuring tape under the pillow?”

Yuri’s eyes went huge. Otabek sighed. “Are you serious?”

“Why won’t you let me do it?” Yuri was breathless, still hard in Otabek’s hand.

“You have a problem,” Otabek told him seriously.

“Yeah,” Yuri panted, closing his eyes and thrusting into Otabek’s unmoving hand. “My boyfriend is hung and he won’t let me measure it.”

“Get over it,” Otabek said, tossing the measuring tape off the bed and giving Yuri’s cock a firm stroke.

Yuri gasped, arching his neck and fucking Otabek’s fist some more. “Never—gonna—get over it,” he panted before coming with a groan.

“You’re so weird,” Otabek whispered, petting Yuri’s hair, pushing a loose strand of it behind his ear.

“Get over it,” Yuri said mockingly, then lunged forward, kissing Otabek hard on the mouth.

—

When Yuri stayed with him, he sometimes used Otabek’s computer to check his email and Twitter.

So Otabek wasn't really surprised when his Google history suddenly included such queries as “how to measure penis,” “how to measure boyfriend’s dick,” and—disturbingly—“how to make mold of penis.”

He was a little irritated, though.

It wasn't like it was news to him that he was, well, “gifted” in this area. He’d spent a lot of time in locker rooms with naked guys. He’d spent a lot of that time naked himself, and dealt with the stares and the jokes and the occasional come-on.

It had never felt flattering. It wasn't how he wanted people to see him. It made him feel like a circus freak.

There had been a girl, before Yuri. Not a girlfriend, just someone at his rink. He didn’t even know if he liked girls, but she was pretty and she wanted to fool around with him, and he was 16 and horny and far from home and he probably could have got off with a plank of wood if it gave him a kind word.

She’d had a car, and she drove them someplace secluded, where she said they wouldn’t be bothered. They made out in the back seat, and she ran her fingers down the front of his jeans; he touched her small, soft breasts through her shirt, and it was a little weird, but everything felt good.

She unzipped his pants, helped him pull them down over his hips, and tugged at his underwear. Then:

“Oh my god,” she said, looking down at him. “Oh—oh, no, sorry.”

She scooted away from him as far as she could in the cramped back seat, eyes locked on his crotch as if it might try to bite her.

Otabek was stunned. “What?” He could barely get the word out through the haze of confusion and rejection.

“Sorry,” the girl said again, without taking her eyes off his groin. “There’s just no way that’s going to fit. Trust me.”

He looked down at his open fly. It wouldn’t fit? He’d never thought about it, not like that. It always seemed to work in porn. But those were professionals, and maybe they had some kind of trick that regular people didn’t know about? His face was burning, the humiliation choking him.

“I … could give you a handjob?” The girl didn’t sound too certain. He was already losing his erection. He quickly stuffed his wilting cock back in his pants and zipped up, not looking at her.

“No, it’s fine,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sorry,” she said again, and she really sounded like she meant it. “I’ll drive you home.”

That night he stayed up way later than he should have, watching porn and not touching himself, even when he got hard again. The familiar pleasure of his own hand on his cock was unwelcome. Was this what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life? Would everyone he wanted to sleep with back away in horror and disgust when they saw what was in his pants?

He remembered a ballet camp in Russia, years ago, trying and failing to keep up with even the novices, lacking the strength and flexibility he needed to bring his skating to the next level, crying alone after class because he wasn't made for it, he wasn't enough, he wasn't _right_. Was this just another way that the body he'd been given would let him down?

He didn’t try to hook up with anyone else after that—not that he’d been trying before. It was fine. His life was skating and music and his bike, and that was more than enough. He deflected anyone who showed any interest, and avoided getting into situations where someone might get close enough to ask, unable to bear the thought of people being amused, appalled, even repulsed when they saw him.

Then there was Yuri, whose first instinct upon seeing Otabek’s dick was to drop to his knees and try to cram the whole thing in his mouth. But that was just Yuri—he liked a challenge. That was his personality. Or maybe his obsession. Otabek was starting to wonder.

It was nice that he’d found someone who didn’t mind his size, after spending two years convinced he’d die a virgin. Yuri might not be able to deep-throat him, but he made up for it in enthusiasm, and though it took a lot of time and a lot of lube, Otabek had managed to get inside him more than once—and the _sounds_ Yuri had made when Otabek fucked him, sweet and shallow and slow, made all the effort, and all the waiting, worthwhile.

But it was possible, maybe, to have too much of a good thing. This fixation Yuri had with the size of his dick—it didn’t seem normal. And it reminded him too much, sometimes, of things he’d prefer not to think about.

And Yuri wasn’t letting it go, either. One night Otabek caught him trying to measure it _again_ , in the middle of a bad movie that had turned into a shirtless makeout and groping on the sofa session. This time, Otabek having confiscated all the measuring instruments in the apartment, Yuri was using just his hand: first examining his palm as he held it flat against Otabek’s length, then circling the shaft and scrutinizing the distance between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, like a handjob from an alien who’d never seen or heard of a human dick and had no idea what to do with one.

Running out of patience, Otabek took Yuri’s hands in his own and removed them from his crotch, pulling Yuri up until he was straddling Otabek’s lap and forcing him to look at Otabek’s face, not at his cock.

“Yura,” he said solemnly, “what are you doing?”

Yuri met his gaze, but his eyes were dilated with barely any green visible and his face was flushed. “I just want to know,” he whined.

Now Otabek’s gaze faltered. This was hard to say, and harder yet to say it while looking into Yuri’s eyes. “Yura,” he tried. “Would you—I mean, is it—” He bit his lip, frustrated. “Are you dating me because of my penis?”

Yuri gaped at him for a full three seconds. Then he giggled like he was twelve. "Well, I wouldn't be dating you if you _didn't_ have one," he said.

Yuri's laughter was often contagious, but not this time. Otabek didn't crack a smile. "Sometimes," he said, "sometimes it feels like you like _it_ more than you like me.”

Yuri’s glee faded fast, leaving him slack-jawed and frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“Just—there’s more to me than my dick.”

“ _I_ know that,” Yuri said. “What are you—if I just wanted a big dick, you think I couldn’t get that in Piter? I could find a different guy every night for a _month_. You think I’m coming all the way to Kazakhstan for your _cock_?”

“No,” Otabek said, “just, sometimes it seems like—it’s like—a fetish or something,” he blurted. “Like you think of me like—like a piece of meat.”

Yuri stared at him, his eyes gone big and round again. “Beka. I _love_ you. I don’t think of you like—meat.” He twisted his hands in Otabek’s until their fingers were entwined. “I don’t want you to feel like that. I didn’t know. Forget it—please. I’ll drop it.”

He looked so wretched it made Otabek’s heart ache. “I just don’t understand,” he said, “why you’re so obsessed with measuring it.”

Yuri groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Because it’s hot.”

Otabek continued to hold Yuri’s hands against his chest. “I would hope you think it’s hot. We’ve been having sex for a while now.”

Now Yuri rolled his eyes. “Not your dick, dummy. Not _just_ your dick, I mean. I think it’s hot that you’re so big. Bigger than me.”

“But why?”

Yuri was quiet, looking down at Otabek’s groin again and avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I can’t explain it. It just—when I think about it, about how big you are, I get … horny. Hornier. It’s not the only thing about you that I like—I like everything about you. I love you. I’d still love you even if you were hung like a shrimp, but you’re _not_ , you’re _huge_ , and it turns me on. It turns me on so much. Is that ... bad?”

Was it? Otabek wondered. He’d dragged Yuri away from his groin several minutes ago, minutes during which they’d been having a pretty serious talk. But as Yuri spoke, staring down at Otabek’s lap, he’d become visibly aroused again, his pink nipples hardening and the bulge in his sweats growing unmistakably bigger. His breath was coming shallowly and his face was flushed, but not entirely with embarrassment.

“Forget it,” Yuri said, looking away. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like—I won’t bring it up again, I promise. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Otabek said. “It’s just not what I expected. I thought you’d be … freaked out by it.”

Now Yuri looked at him as if Otabek had said he thought they should quit skating and open up a surf shop. “Why?” he asked.

Otabek shrugged, not wanting to get into it, not with Yuri in his lap with a hardon, which was starting to have a sympathetic effect on his own dick. He brushed a loose strand of hair out of Yuri’s face. “It really turns you on?”

Yuri swallowed and sucked his lower lip. “Beka,” he said hoarsely, “it makes me fucking crazy.”

Astride Otabek’s legs, Yuri shifted, bringing his clothed dick in contact with Otabek’s bare one. Really, it was less a shift and more of a grind. Otabek’s eyes fluttered closed against his will. He opened them again to look Yuri in the eyes.

“If I let you measure it,” he said slowly, “will you stop being so weird about it?”

Yuri looked like he was thinking. “Probably not,” he admitted, still grinding slowly into Otabek’s lap. “But I’ll quit bugging you about letting me measure it.”

“And you won’t text JJ Leroy about it.”

Yuri laughed and fell forward, wrapping his arms around Otabek’s shoulders. “I won’t text JJ about it,” he promised. His breath was hot on Otabek’s neck, and he pressed his mouth there, sucking a love bite into Otabek’s skin.

Otabek squirmed under the assault. “All right,” he finally said. “You can measure it. I’ll let you.”

He could swear he actually felt Yuri’s cock twitch against his stomach. Then Yuri leaned back enough so that Otabek could see his face: flushed, pupils dilated, mouth wet and open.

“Really? Fuck,” Yuri breathed. His hand went to Otabek’s crotch again and wrapped firmly around the shaft of Otabek’s cock, giving it a stroke and shuddering like it was his own dick getting played with. “Oh, _fuck_ , Beka.” He arched his neck and bit his lip like he was seconds away from coming, then scrambled off of Otabek’s lap and onto the floor, mouth descending on Otabek’s dick like he was starving for it.

Otabek groaned as his cock was engulfed in wet heat. Then he winced. “But not tonight.”

Yuri pulled his mouth off with a lewd pop. “No?” He looked up at Otabek, round eyed and devastatingly beautiful.

Otabek stroked his hair and gave him an apologetic smile. “I threw out the tape measure,” he confessed.


End file.
